Almost Lost

Cassie took her time unpacking, making sure her belongings were neatly packed in the quaint white wardrobe, and that her meds were stashed at the back of the desk drawer. She didn’t think this family would go through her stuff when she wasn’t there, but she didn’t want to field any embarrassing questions about the anxiety medications she took, especially after the panic attack she’d had earlier.

At least she’d recovered from the episode quickly, and that must be a sign that her anxiety was under control. She made a mental note to take her nighttime tablets before joining the family for dinner, just in case.

The delicious aroma of cooking garlic and browning meat wafted through the house long before six-thirty. Cassie waited until a quarter past six and then put on one of her prettiest tops, with beadwork around the neck, lip gloss, and a touch of mascara. She wanted Ryan to see her at her best. She told herself it was important to give a good impression because of the earlier panic attack, but when she thought back to those moments on the porch, she found what she remembered most clearly was the feel of Ryan’s toned, muscular arms as he’d held her.

She felt lightheaded all over again when she remembered how strong, yet gentle with her he’d been.

Leaving her room, Cassie nearly bumped into Madison, who was heading eagerly for the kitchen.

“This food smells so good,” Madison told Cassie.

“Is it your favorite dinner?”

“Well, I love spag bol the way Dad makes it, but not when we eat out in restaurants. They don’t do it the same. So I’d say this is my favorite home food, and my second favorite is roast chicken, and my third favorite is toad in the hole. Then when we go out, I love fish and chips, which you get all over the place here, and I love pizza, and I hate hamburgers, which happen to be Dylan’s favorite, but I think restaurant burgers are yuck.”

“What’s toad in the hole?” Cassie asked curiously, guessing it must be a traditional English dish.

“Have you never eaten it? It’s sausages baked in a sort of pie, made with eggs and flour and milk. You have to have it with lots of gravy. I mean, lots. And peas and carrots.”

The conversation had taken them all the way into the kitchen. The wooden table was laid for four, and Dylan was already sitting in his place, pouring a glass of orange juice.

“Burgers are not yuck. They’re the food of the gods,” he countered.

“My teacher at school said they’re mostly cereal and bits of the animals you wouldn’t eat otherwise, ground up finely.”

“Your teacher is wrong.”

“How can she be wrong? You’re stupid to say that.”

Cassie was about to intervene, thinking Madison’s insult too personal, but Dylan got his comeback in first.

“Hey, Maddie.” Dylan pointed a warning finger at her. “You’re either with me or you’re against me.”

Cassie couldn’t work out what he meant by that, but Madison rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him before sitting down.

“Can I help you, Ryan?”

Cassie walked over to the stove, where Ryan was lifting a boiling pot of pasta off the heat.

He glanced at her and smiled.

“Everything’s under control, I hope. Dinner time is T minus thirty seconds. Come on, kids. Grab your plates and let’s dish up.”

“I like your top, Cassie,” Madison said.

“Thank you. I bought it in New York City.”

“New York City. Wow. I’d love to go there,” Madison said, wide-eyed.

“The sixth form economics students went in June on a school trip,” Dylan said. “Study economics, and you might go, too.”

“Does that involve math?” Madison asked.

Dylan nodded.

“I hate math. It’s boring and difficult.”

“Well then, you won’t go.”

Dylan turned his attention to his plate, piling it high with food, while Ryan rinsed the cooking utensils at the sink.

Seeing Madison was looking mutinous, Cassie changed the subject.

“Your dad told me you love sports. What’s your favorite?”

“Running and gymnastics. I quite like tennis, we started it this summer.”

“And you’re a cyclist?” Cassie asked Dylan.

He nodded, piling grated cheese onto his food.

“Dylan wants to be a professional and win the Tour de France one day,” Madison said.

Ryan sat down at the table.

“You’re more than likely going to discover some obscure mathematical formula and get a full scholarship to Cambridge University,” he said, gazing affectionately at his son.

Dylan shook his head.

“Tour de France all the way, Dad,” he insisted.

“University first,” Ryan retorted, his voice firm, and Dylan scowled in response. Madison interjected, asking for more juice, and Cassie poured it for her while the brief moment of discord passed.

Letting their conversation wash over her, Cassie ate her food, which was delicious. She’d never known anyone quite like Ryan, she decided. He was so capable and so caring. She wondered if the children knew how lucky they were, having a father who cooked for his family.

After dinner, she volunteered to do the cleaning up, which mainly involved loading the large, state-of-the-art dishwasher. Ryan explained that the children were allowed an hour of TV after dinner if their homework was finished, and that he turned off the Wi-Fi at bedtime.

“It’s harmful for these screenagers to text on their phones all night,” he said. “And they will, if the opportunity is there. Bedtime is sleep time.”

When eight-thirty arrived, the two children went to bed obediently.

Dylan gave her a brief “Good night” and told her he’d be up very early in the morning to cycle around the village with his friends.

“Do you want me to wake you?” Cassie asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said, before closing his bedroom door.